


Just Like the Tide

by DarkStarDreaming



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, Floreville, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Relationship Study, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:56:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29928933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkStarDreaming/pseuds/DarkStarDreaming
Summary: The sea is just to her left, a constant, reassuring presence, like the man opposite her. The tide is coming in, it’s almost here, she can feel it in her bones.Florence doesn't love Neville, not yet. But she will one day.Snapshots of Florence and Neville's relationship as it develops. It's just fluff and they're cute.
Relationships: Florence Cassell/Neville Parker
Comments: 17
Kudos: 31





	Just Like the Tide

**Author's Note:**

> Hi,  
> This the first piece of writing I've ever let anyone else read so please be gentle! Please let me know what you think of it. I hope it's not too ooc, I tried but it's hard.  
> This fic is basically me trying to get inside Florence's head. Also the world needs more Florence and Neville because they are so precious and wholesome.  
> I imagine this as being set during and post series 10 (I'm assuming they won't resolve the relationship in the next five minutes after that cliff-hanger).  
> Hope you enjoy reading it!

The tide is out, well as far out as it ever gets on Saint Marie, the tidal range is a matter of a few metres. As she looks out at the sea, Florence remembers Neville telling her that at Morecambe, where he had his childhood holidays, the sea would go out 10 or even 12 metres. He’d mentioned the place so many times she Googled it, to her it was exotic and strange, a million miles from her childhood here. She could imagine little Neville in his tiny check shirt with his backpack on his shoulder, feet in the icy water of that vast flat bay. If she lent slightly to her left she could see adult Neville over her friends head. She's at Catherine’s Bar having a few drinks to celebrate the engagement of one of her girlfriends. Their lives carried on while she was away, hers is still static. He's having his usual dinner of chicken and chips, he's struggling to move forwards too but at least he had done something, taken this huge leap outside his comfort zone to come here. She hadn’t appreciated it at first but the more she got to know him the more she respected him, admired him for it. She was doing the same or trying to, coming back here had been a step forward.

“We’re going shopping tomorrow, want to come?”

Her friends voice recalls Florence to the present.

“I can’t,” she shakes her head in apology.

“Work?”

“Um, yeah.”

It’s not strictly work, the truth is she's arranged to take Neville to the nature reserve, another thing to tick off his to do list. She could easily cancel, go with the girls instead, she knows he wouldn’t mind. She doesn’t want to, she’d rather go with him. Their eyes meet across the bar and the smile he gives her is so warm and friendly, as warm and friendly as he is. Of course she’ll go with him.

"Spending the weekend with your boss again?" Her friend nudges her and winks at the others. "You two are always together."

"He's cute,” grins the another woman. “There is something going on between you, right?"

Florence rolls her eyes at them. Besides anything else it's absurd for women in their mid 30's to be describing a 40 year old man as cute. She fiddles with her glass.

"He's my boss, we're... friends."

They laugh at her good-naturedly. She watches Neville, sat alone looking out over the sea, head resting on his hand, beer bottle next to him. The same beer she's drinking. For a moment she wishes she was having drinks with him instead of her girlfriends, their lives seem to follow a perfectly ordered route, hers has been blown apart and she can't quite find her way yet. They think she should be over it by now, even her mum thinks she should get a boyfriend, move on but she's just not ready. The fact is she's not the same person she was, she can't be. Neville seems to be the only one who gets it, who isn't pushing her.

"He's... nice, understanding..."

By some fluke she runs into him as she leaves and they're going the same way. They walk along side by side, falling easily into step. They've fallen just as easily into friendship, she thinks. She hadn't expected it when they first met, he'd seemed even more eccentric than her previous colleagues, more annoying. When she first suggested showing him around, it had been purely a kindness, wanting her new colleague to settle, and a distraction for herself, she had plenty of time so why not? Perhaps she’d recognised herself in him, the struggle to find your place. He still looked like a lost school boy at times, alone and unsure, life going on all around that you’re not quite part of, since losing Patrice she knew how that felt. He understands loss too and he doesn’t shy away from talking about it, that’s really helped her. Everyone wants to avoid it, she get’s that, she really does but she can’t pretend it didn’t happen even if they can. Neville will talk about it if she wants to or not if she doesn’t. He can be surprisingly mature.

“I looked up what you can see at the nature reserve, it’s not half bad,” he says, face shining with enthusiasm, “there are parrots and all sorts.”

She can't help grinning at him. This is one of the reasons she enjoys taking him around the islands sights, he’s endearingly enthusiastic and curious about everything, it manages to make the places she knows so well new and exciting.

They reach the place where their routes diverge and they stop under the street light to chat a while longer. She's tempted to invite him in for a drink but it's late and they’re starting out early in the morning before it gets too hot. At the corner she turns to watch him walking away, backpack slung over his shoulder, hands in his pockets. It had taken less than a week for her kindness to grow into a pleasure, to her surprise she found she likes his company.

She's not in love with him but she's glad he's here, she's always glad he's here.

* * *

"I might never have known I had it in me to feel this... happy." *

He looks happy, dreamily so. Florence smiles back, they hold each other's gaze for a moment before she turns away to look out of the window. She has to before she admits that she never knew she could be this happy again. Sometimes she still feels guilty about being happy without Patrice, she used to think she would never be happy again. She's happy when she's with Neville, she can't lie to herself, he's good company. They fit in a way that's taken them both by surprise. The guilt still bites at that realisation but it’s lessening. Patrice would want her to be happy. She is alive so she has to live. She makes a comment about swimming, pretends to herself that's the reason she's here.

They play another round of the game, he insists he's going to make a comeback. The shack is full of their laughter. It's so domestic, drinking wine, playing a game, listening to records, it makes her heart ache. The thought that this could be her life slips through her mind, she has to stop that train of thought.

Outside the tide is on the turn, gently rolling back up the beach towards them.

“You pick the next record,” Neville offers when the one on the turntable ends.

“There’s one I used to listen to when I played Inspectuer alone.” Florence sifts through the pile of vinyl looking for the one she wants. “I wonder if you have it, it’s a Manchester band actually. Ah!”

Neville can’t help laughing when he sees her happily holding up “(What’s the Story) Morning Glory”.

“What were you doing listening to Oasis?”

She gives a little shrug, putting it on the turntable. “Why not? All the pirate stations played English music.”

“Well it’s not a good night out in Manchester unless you’ve ended up crying over a total stranger while singing along to “Don’t Look Back in Anger.””

There is more laughter. Florence secretly wonders what Neville’s singing is like, can he do a good Liam Gallagher impression? He has a nice speaking voice, she likes his accent, the way he forms his vowels, so different to Humphrey Goodman and Jack Mooney. It’s comforting. She smiles and decides to let him win this round.

“I used to dream of going to England, seeing London and Manchester, the places those songs came from. They seemed…” She shrugs. “I don’t know… romantic?”

He snorts. “Then you met a Mancunian and that’s put you off.”

His laugh is self-depreciating. He thinks he’s odd and annoying, she doesn’t agree.

“I’ve been to London but I’d still like to see other places.”

“I could take you one day. I mean if you want… Or I could tell you…”

He’s shifting nervously in his chair, avoiding her eye.

She cuts him off, “I’d like that. You’d make a good tour guide.”

“Oh, right, yeah.” He rubs his hand over his face and eyes. She knows that gesture, he’s nervous or embarrassed.

“I think we ought to fit in Morecambe and Blackpool too, you make them sound fascinating.” Her eyes are glittering with fun. “And if there’s, I don’t know, a hat museum or something.”

“There is actually and don’t get cheeky,” He wags a forefinger at her, huge grin on his face. “Or I might take you there.”

“Really?” Laughter bubbles up inside her again, her cheeks hurt from smiling.

For some reason that she can’t quite name it feels important to see the places he grew up, the places that made him. She wants to know, to understand him.

She doesn't love him, not yet, not quite.

* * *

The whole team are in Catherine's bar having the customary post case drink. They’re waiting for Neville to bring the drinks over, Florence is watching him out of the corner of her eye. Catherine's said something that's flustered him, even though most of his face is turned away from her she can see his cheeks pulling his mouth into that endearing little half smile. They both glance her way but she's quick enough to avert her gaze.

Moments later he's in front of her holding out her bottle, their fingers brush. He starts back. She murmurs her thanks. There’s a lingering warmth where his skin touched hers.

Marlon has said something unintentionally funny again and Neville's eyes seek hers to share the joke. She returns his smile & remembers reading once that in a group when something humorous happens each person will look to their favourite person to share it. She knows she immediately looked to him, it makes sense.

The conversation goes on and suddenly it’s too close to home. She shifts uncomfortably in her chair. Neville’s spotted the change in her mood, he’s got too good at that, she can tell by the tilt of his head and the slow blink of his eyes as he looks at her that he’s saying it’s ok. He covers for her, turning the conversation like he always does until her shoulders relax and she can laugh along with them all again.

He rolls his sleeves up and she can’t tear her eyes away. It’s been having this strange affect on her lately. He undoes his tie and top shirt button, and that’s really not helping her concentrate on what Catherine’s saying. He’s oblivious, thankfully, as he rolls up the tie and stows it in his backpack.

Not long later the others leave and it's just the two of them having dinner together. She's managed to cajole him into trying a fork full of the local speciality she's eating, having first checked there's nothing in it he's allergic to.

“It’s not bad,” Neville says despite the face he’s pulling.

“But not as good as chicken and chips?” She teases, rolling her eyes.

“How about we go halves then?”

“Done.”

They're good for each other. She takes the time and effort to coax him out of his comfort zone, encouraging him to try new things, never pressuring him, always supportive. She thinks her efforts are amply rewarded, he's always concerned for her, empathetic, never pushing her but cheering her on.

The sea is just to her left, a constant, reassuring presence, like the man opposite her. The tide is coming in, it’s almost here, she can feel it in her bones. She knows how things will be as they hold each other's gaze too long. If he can just wait for her to catch him up. She doesn't doubt his feelings, it’s there in every look, every word, every gentle smile and she’s glad of it, glad that it’s her.

"I can wait," he says, "I'll wait for as long as it takes, it's worth waiting for."

He could equally be continuing their work based conversation of a few minutes ago or answering her thoughts.

"I don't think you'll have to wait long." It's true either way.

They smile at each other shyly. Her fingers itch to bridge the few centimetres that separate their hands. Not yet, she tells herself, they'll come to each other naturally, in small increments, in their own time. She doesn’t need to rush, not with him. It’s dawning on her in this moment that they’re inevitable, like the tide coming in. There's something remarkably comforting about that thought.

She's not in love with him yet but she will be, yes, she will be.

* * *

Florence wakes to the sound of the sea, the waves washing the sand down the beach and gently pushing it back up again. It confuses her half-sleeping mind until she remembers where she is, not in her own home but at the shack. She'd come over to help Neville go over the case notes, check if they'd missed anything. The time had got on, they'd got through a fair number of beers and she'd found herself nodding off. She wasn't sure which of them had suggested she stay over but now she's in Neville's bed wearing one of his t-shirts. It's not the first time she’s fallen asleep here. She reaches for her phone to check the time. 4am. Looking around the room she spots him asleep in a chair, legs stretched out, head thrown back and arms dangling gracelessly at his side's. How he can sleep like that she can't imagine, he must be so uncomfortable. The moonlight peering through the unshuttered window highlights the sharp angles of his face, he looks remarkably peaceful. She can't help but laugh internally at him sleeping like that, why didn't he use the spare room?

She lays back down, curling up on her side. It's sweet of him to always insist she take the only comfortable bed. Her mind drifts back over the evening and draws up short as she recalls what he'd said on her arrival.

"What are you doing here?" He quickly added, "You didn't have to take up your evening helping me."

She'd shrugged off the question but now staring at the ceiling she supposes it was a fair question, what is she doing here? Why is she always here? Always keen to be where he is? Her subconscious knows the answer but her conscious mind is shying away from it still.

She must have fallen back to sleep because the next thing she knows the sun is shining brightly and the chair is empty. She stretches contentedly, listening to the sound of someone in the little kitchen and smelling the aroma of coffee. Within a few minutes Neville appears, as she knew he would, with a mug of coffee for her, just the way she likes it. She sits up against the headboard, taking it gratefully, he hovers hesitantly by the bed until she indicates for him to sit down. He perches himself on the very end of the bed, sipping his tea.

She listens with half an ear to his chatter, like the sound of the sea, soothing. She idly watches him, the muscles in his jaw, the movement of his hand as he explains something about the inventor of the kettle that she doesn't need to know, the way his hair stands up in tufts where he's slept on it. A great surge of fondness for him warms her whole body. They have somehow achieved the comfort and confidence of decades of marriage without it, without even dating. Her uncertainty seems childish now, what is there to be afraid of?

She can see past him out to the beach, the tide is unusually high.

Realisation hits her, making her feel giddy with happiness. It’s been creeping up on her gradually over goodness only knows how long, she'd known months ago that it would happen but somehow it’s still caught her out. She must be smiling idiotically because he asks her if he's said something funny.

"No," she replies, laying her hand over his. "I've just realised something."

"What?" His smile is fond but puzzled, the little lines between his eyebrows furrowed.

"Something wonderful." Her thumb slowly caresses his knuckles.

His hand turns gently, cautiously, beneath hers so that they are palm to palm, she threads her fingers through his.

"I love you, you know," he says, eyes softer than she’s ever seen them.

Of course she knows, he’s not much good at hiding it. But this is the right time to say it, it’s very them, unexpected, relaxed, comfortable. It sounds deliciously natural to hear him say it. She squeezes his hand.

Her reply is natural too and the truest thing she has ever said. "I love you too."

They sit in companionable silence, hand in hand, drinking their drinks.

“I think I’ve solved the case by the way,” he says eventually.

“Really? We’d better get to the station then.”

He nods.

“You can take me out for dinner tonight,” she grins.

“Can I?” He smiles back brightly, like she’s told him he’s won the pub quiz. “I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> * Follows on from the scene where they're playing the board game Inspecteur at the shack in series 10 episode 7 because that was amazing and I needed more.  
> There is a hat museum in Salford, Manchester and you know that Neville would go there!  
> I have a couple more ideas for these guys so you may see more from me??  
> Thanks for reading 😊


End file.
